


The Unimaginable

by ellipsisthegreat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:24:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8166640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellipsisthegreat/pseuds/ellipsisthegreat
Summary: When they ask about the Hale pack, about Laura, about before, Derek tells them about Mom’s strength, about Dad’s gentle voice, about Cora and his brothers running around the house laughing, about Laura’s teasing. He tells them Laura was raised to be an Alpha, and that she should have been. He tells them she was sarcastic and loving and forgiving, because she was, before the fire.He doesn’t tell them about after.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to break my own heart by writing a story where Laura didn't forgive Derek for Kate and the fire. Because I am a masochist. And now I'm sharing it with all of you. Because I am a sadist.
> 
> Title from the Hamilton song '[It's Quiet Uptown](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rrsmUzqweBI),' which is what inspired me to write this story and which I listened to on repeat while writing it. So, like, fair warning y'all: this is sad as hell.
> 
> Enjoy (if you can)!

His hair still smelled—like smoke and screaming and the horrible laughter that confirmed what he’d suspected since he saw the first flickers of the fire—when he and Laura left the sheriff’s station.

Laura’s lips pursed together as they walked to the car, the black Camaro Dad gave her for her birthday. She headed him off before he could reach for the door, thrusting a credit card at him.

“Get a hotel room,” she said, her voice quiet and hard and cracking. It was the first thing she’d said to him since the sheriff pulled them out of class. Her eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “You know how to do that by now.”

He nodded, tears stinging his eyes, throat burning. Somewhere, buried under the scent of fire and death, was the clinging scent of Her perfume. Somewhere, buried under the layers of ashes and dirt and tear trails, was a final smear of Her lipstick.

Laura stared at him a moment more before turning and climbing into the car. She pulled out of the lot with a sharp screech of tires.

He went to a hotel, the nice one She wouldn’t take him to when they—

“None of that,” said the man at the front desk, waving away the credit card. He handed Derek two key cards. “You two stay as long as you need to, and let me know if you want me to bring you anything to eat. You want anything now?”

Derek looked down at his shoes and shook his head, his stomach twisting up around itself at the very mention of food.

“Just call if you do,” the man said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Derek turned on his heel and ran to the stairs, to the room, to the shower, and he sat under the spray and cried until the water was ice cold, until he was too dehydrated to cry anymore.

When he couldn’t stand it anymore, he crawled out and wrapped himself up in a towel. Tossed his clothes in the shower and wrung them out underneath the spray until the water ran clean. Draped them over the shower curtain rod and left the bathroom to crawl into bed and pretend he was done crying until the effort of crying and pretending not to sent him to sleep.

He woke when a pile of clothes slapped him in the face. The keys to the Camaro followed, the cuts healing before they could begin to bleed.

“Get dressed and go to the car,” Laura said, not looking at him as she laid down in the other bed. “I’m not sleeping in the same room as you.”

“Okay.” He flinched when she turned the lights off. Got dressed and went out to the car. The lingering scent of pack should have sent him to sleep, but the acrid smell of smoke robbed it of any comfort.

~*~

_Years and years later, when his pack asks him about his family, when he can finally talk about them without the words sticking in his throat, when Cora’s there to hold his hand and Peter’s there to snort and take over if he’s remembering something wrong, he tells them stories and stories and stories._

_Of his mother as the Alpha, strong and wise and patient. Of his father, human and always laughing until even his ever-serious wife joined in. Of his little brothers, wreaking havoc and learning how to switch places so even their grandmother couldn’t hear them lying about who was who. Of his grandparents and how they bickered daily over tales of werewolf lore, holding hands all the while. Of the house standing as tall as it had when his ancestors built it. How it smelled so strongly of pack and love and happiness back then that the scent still lingers in some places, under the dirt and ash and sorrow._

~*~

“Wake up.”

He jerked awake, eyes shooting open as he sat up.

“I told you to get a hotel room,” she said. “And you couldn’t even do that right.”

“What do you—”

“You don’t accept anyone’s pity,” she snapped, eyes glowing red. “You don’t deserve it. Next time I tell you to get us something, you damn well better pay for it. I don’t care if you have to take out cash and leave it, you hear me?”

He nodded, hands clenched into fists at his side.

“I’d say we’ll move to the motel, but it’s covered in the scent of you and Her, isn’t it?”

He nodded again.

“Don’t you cry,” she said as she started the car.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying and failing to stop the tears from falling.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” She threw the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. “I’m going to take you to the store to get some clothes before I leave.”

“Leave?” he asked, voice rough.

“If I have to listen to anyone else in this town tell me how sorry they are for my loss, I’m going to go bat shit,” she said, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I didn’t lose anything; it was fucking taken from me.”

“Where are we going?”

She snorted. “I’m going to see if there are any alphas willing to teach me control. You are staying to take care of everything here. Judson will make sure you don’t fuck anything else up; he knows to call me if there are any issues. Or if it’s something else you can’t be trusted with.”

“I’m sorry—”

“I just said I don’t want to hear it.”

“Okay.”

“Come on.” She slammed the car door shut behind her, not waiting for him as she entered the store. A change came over her as people caught sight of them. Her face softened, a small smile pulling at her lips as she nodded away people’s sympathy. “Get a cart.”

He did, following and saying nothing as she threw clothes into it. A backpack, notebooks—

“What’s this for?”

“You’re finishing high school.” She scowled at the pencils and pens before grabbing a pack and tossing that in the cart. “There’s only a few weeks left this year and I don’t want to deal with getting you a GED. I spoke to your teachers already; they’re going to email me your assignments for the next week so you can stay caught up while you and Judson go over the wills.”

“But I—”

“I don’t care what your grades are,” she said, speaking over him like she hadn’t noticed him talking. “Now or if and when we transfer you to whatever high school is at wherever we end up. As long as you graduate.”

“But—”

“But what?” she asked, eyes flaring red, features sharpening.

He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut—they had automatically gone blue in response to hers, and she didn’t need any more reminders of how many innocent people were dead because of him.

“Nothing,” he said past the lump in his throat. “I’ll graduate.”

“Good.” She turned and walked away, not so much as glancing back to see if he was following.

She didn’t need to. She was his Alpha, and he would follow her anywhere.

~*~

_When they ask about Laura, he’ll tell them she was the perfect older sister and future Alpha, as strong as Talia and good-natured as her father._

_“Laura was always supposed to be the next Alpha,” he’ll say, eyes hazy with memories. “She was born for it.”_

~*~

“New York,” she said when he opened the door to the Camaro and climbed inside.

“New York?”

“Dad’s old pack lives a few hours north of the city. One of his cousins owns a complex near Columbia; they’re letting us stay there while the Alpha teaches me what she can.”

“Why not stay with them?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’ll take me years to learn what I need to; are you so stupid that you think two Alphas can coexist for that long?”

He leaned against the window and shut his eyes. “Right.”

“Besides, I was accepted to Columbia, before,” she said. He remembered; she was accepted to almost every college she’d applied to and everyone was so proud. “If I get reaccepted I’ll transfer, and if not I applied to a few other places, too.”

(Not that it mattered how proud they were, before. This was after, and they were all dead.)

“Right,” he said again. “Are we driving to New York?”

“You are.”

His eyes snapped open, brows drawing together as he looked at her.

“I’m flying; I need to start training as soon as I can,” she said. “And I’ll need to get the apartment set up. Finish up whatever paperwork needs finishing if and when my transfer gets approved.”

The last few weeks had been so lonely. He would take every ounce of her anger if only—

“Right.”

“You look older than you are, and you have a learner’s permit. Just don’t get pulled over and you’ll be fine.” Her eyes narrowed. “Better be. I won’t post bail or pay for a lawyer.”

He nodded. His entire body felt heavy.

She pulled into the drop off area. “I’ve got the address in the GPS; shouldn’t take you more than a week or so. See you in New York.”

~*~

_“But the fire ruined everything,” he’ll say, and any questions they have about why the stories with her in them always make him saddest will disappear._

~*~

“You room is there,” she said, waving a hand at it. “I marked your drawer in the fridge and the kitchen cabinets you can use. Mark has a friend in construction who could use another pair of hands; I’ll buy you enough groceries to get you through your first paycheck.”

He nodded, too exhausted to speak. Trudged into his bedroom. Stared at the bare walls, the complete lack of even a lumpy throwaway mattress or dresser. Took a deep breath, his hand tightening around the strap of his duffle bag.

He lay down in the closet—the doorframe of his room boasted only the hinges that once held a door—with the duffel as some semblance of a pillow.

He did not sleep.

When the pink of morning light shone under the door, he got up. Threw on some basketball shorts, a tank top, and his ratty tennis shoes.

Ran and ran and ran, never quite fast enough to get away from the world She left behind.

The apartment smelled like eggs and bacon when he finally got back to the apartment, but only dirty dishes remained.

‘Here’s the address for Mark’s friend,’ said a note on the refrigerator.

He gulped back his tears, took a shower, and went to work.

~*~

_Later, to himself, he’ll whisper, “Even her.”_

~*~

A year passed. Two, three. Her anger never wavered.

Every once in a while she would talk for a few days about bringing more wolves into their pack. Giving someone the Bite, taking in an Omega.

She never did. Instead the subject faded away, and her anger seemed to grow.

In the quiet of the night, when even her fury wasn’t enough to keep her awake, he thought she was waiting for him to die. To kill himself, maybe, or run away. He thought about it sometimes, when she yelled herself hoarse, or cried herself to sleep, or disappeared for a few days before coming back.

He probably should have, but he was too selfish not to cling to her.

One day, just before his eighteenth birthday, she came home and stared at him for a long time.

He didn’t notice at first, too busy cooking himself dinner and washing the dishes before he sat down to eat. Looked up at her when the first forkful was almost to his mouth.

“Mark invited us to eat Christmas dinner with his family,” she said. “He said Evangeline wants us to run with the pack on the first full moon of the year. You, you’ve never met anyone from their pack but him.”

He closed his mouth, lowering the fork. Mark had never mentioned wanting him to meet anyone else. Neither had Laura. “Do you want to me to?”

Her eyebrows drew together. “Your birthday is Christmas Day.”

He frowned and nodded. “I’ll be eighteen.”

She flinched. “Eighteen.”

Another nod, slower than the first. He set the fork down. Dropped his hands to his lap, and his eyes to the tabletop. “Do, do you want me to leave? Once, once I’m old enough to live on my own?”

She pressed her lips together into a thin line. Looked away, finally. “No. You can stay.”

“Okay,” he said. Started eating so he had something to do with his trembling hands. Tried to calm the rapid beating of his heart—she’d never actually told him to stay before. Never explicitly gave him permission; just allowed him to infer it.

“I’ll see if they’re doing anything for New Year’s Eve,” she said. Dropped her voice and said, almost to herself, “You’ll be eighteen.”

“Yes.”

“And you graduated this year.” She shook her head as if to clear it, scowling at him. “I’m not paying for you to go to college, and you’re sure as hell not getting any money from our family’s deaths.” She paused. “But I won’t—stop you.”

“I,” he stopped and cleared his throat, dragging his fork around the remaining pasta on his plate. “I just finished my finals for this semester. I’m at BMCC.”

“Oh,” she said. “I…didn’t know.”

He shrugged. His acceptance letter hung on the fridge.

“Right.” She stood. “I’m going to work.” She started toward the door, but hesitated. “Do you need—are you still working for Mark?”

“Yeah,” he said. “When I’m not at school.”

“Good, that’s—” She coughed. “Good. I’ll be home later.”

The door slammed shut behind her.

“Okay,” he said to the empty air of the apartment.

“Okay,” he said again when he woke up on Christmas morning to a laptop on the table, Laura nowhere in sight.

‘I won’t buy you another,’ said the note on the laptop, right underneath a scribbled out word that might have been ‘Happy.’

It was old, with scratches all over the casing and a missing ‘a’ key.

He picked it up and held it close and definitely, probably, mostly didn’t cry.

~*~

_One day, when the laptop finally—literally—breaks apart, Derek will let Stiles buy him a new one._

_He will not protest to Stiles calling him a Neanderthal, happier to struggle with ink and pen than allow himself to be brought into the modern age. He will not point out that he has upgraded his phone three times since coming back to Beacon Hills (only once due to a supernatural-related incident, and only then if one counted Stiles’ clumsiness as supernatural. Derek will)._

_Instead he will let Stiles talk him into a high dollar laptop he suspects Stiles will try to switch with his own at the first opportunity._

_Stiles will, and Derek will let him._

~*~

“I’m going back to Beacon Hills,” Laura said, flopping into the chair across from him.

His head snapped up.

“Something’s wrong, there,” she continued. “I can, I can feel it. So I’m. Going back.”

“No,” he said before he could think better of it. His mouth snapped shut with an audible, painful click of his teeth when her eyes glowed red.

“Don’t try to—” She took a deep breath and pursed her lips together. Closed her red eyes and opened brown ones. “You’re not coming with me, so don’t go getting any weird ideas. If it, I mean, once I have it taken care of you can join me.”

“I don’t want to,” he said.

“It’s time we went back, Derek,” she said, frowning at him. “It’s been almost seven years and I—Glen says she can’t teach me anything more and, and Peter’s there.” Her voice was small, smaller than he could ever remember. “Our family is there. Our pack. Beacon Hills is ours.”

“Laura, please,” he said. “Everything, everything good about Beacon Hills b-burned seven years ago.”

“And whose fault was that?” she asked, eyes going red again as a fist came down on the table. Then she sighed and shook her head. “I’m—We’re going back. I’m going to take care of whatever it is making me feel this way and then you’re coming, too. We’ll…maybe I’ll give the Bite to a few people, take in some Omegas. We’ll build our own pack and, and make our family proud.”

“You will.” He stood, chair scraping across the floor, and stormed to his room. Slammed the door shut and curled up on the floor of the closet.

Listened to her come to his door, then turn and walk away. She puttered around for hours after that, packing, coming to his door, walking away from it, packing, making dinner, coming to his door.

Knocked once in the early hours of the morning.

“I wish you’d,” she said, but cut herself off. Thumped her forehead against his door. “We’re never going to be what we were, Derek. But I—I’m so tired of being angry. I want to try to be something else.”

He didn’t answer, and she huffed out a bitter laugh and went to bed.

A few hours later, after her breathing evened out, he got up. Put on his running clothes and snuck out of the house and ran, and ran, and ran.

He never saw her again.

~*~

_Years and years later, when Derek is flushed and happy, when the Hale house is tall and strong and full of pack and family again, when he doesn’t dare pull his hand away from Stiles’ if it means not being able to run his thumb over the silver ring on Stiles’ finger, when even Boyd can’t help smiling because Derek’s happiness, once loosed, is infectious, Peter will give him a stack of letters._

_“She wrote them when she talked to me,” Peter will say with something like regret in his tone. “Before I killed her.”_

_One will say, ‘You were so young.’_

_Another, ‘Why did I blame you for so long?’_

_One page will say only, ‘I’m sorry.’_

_On the final page, over and over, tear-stained and smudged, are the words, ‘I love you.’_

**Author's Note:**

> I'd share my tissues but I ran out like two pages into this.


End file.
